


Eastward Bound

by Ethomania



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Heroine's Journey, Magic, Other, Post-War of the Ring, Quests, Second Generation, Slow Build, Tenth Walker, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethomania/pseuds/Ethomania
Summary: It's been nearly thirty-four years since Frodo left for the Undying Lands. Samwise began his family with Rosie Cotton, and was blessed with a daughter who he names Lisabet Gamgee, before Rosie was struck by an illness and died when their daughter was only five years old.Now, on the eve of Lisabet's thirty-third birthday, a stranger suddenly appears in a dry irrigation ditch not far from their home of Bag End, bringing with him endless mysteries, challenges, and one simple quest; go far into the East, further than Lisabet's father ever ventured, and bring an end to the new darkness rising.Lisabet, the stranger, and her two closest friends set out, drawn by forces they don't understand; unthinkable challenges and sacrifice lie ahead with danger around every corner. The journey will change them, and their whole world, forever.(Work in Progress)





	1. The Arrival

Lisabet Gamgee was not the brightest hobbit in the Shire, nor was she the easiest to get along with, but she was braver than any of her friends and by her very blood did she not let anyone forget. That was why, on the eve of her thirty-third birthday, she took it upon herself to investigate the person-shaped lump at the bottom of the flood ditch near her home. Her friends and cousins, gathered about in the miniature army of fifty children her age or younger, crowded at the edge of the ditch as Lisabet slowly lowered herself down. The summer had been hot and rainless thus far, so this flood ditch was bone-dry. Even to Lisabet's untrained eye, it looked like the shape had been placed there. Not with any care, as the shape would've been lying face up if the placer had been careful, but the shape had certainly been put there on purpose. Why? Well, because there was a large black blanket lain over the shape, and it had been done neatly.

She found her feet on the cracked, dry earth at the bottom of the ditch about two metres away from the shape. As she stood straight, the whispers began to rise, breaking the oppressive silence. A few of the brasher ones claimed the shape was drunk. A young one or two began to become agitated, asking the elder siblings or cousins if the shape was dead, and those older figures were trying to assure them without outright claiming the shape was alive. 

Now that she was closer, Lisabet fully took in the size of the shape. It was big. It was twice her size, maybe more. As tall as a Man. That was it! This shape wasn't a hobbit. It was a human, maybe from the west or north. Lisabet edged forwards, slowly lowering herself down until she was knelt by the human's head. Her hands hovered over the edge of the blanket, and Lisabet noticed that she was afraid of whatever was underneath it. What if the shape was dead? What would they do if it was alive? If she raised the blanket, and the children saw the dead body, she would be in a whole load of trouble. But if the body was alive, what would they do? 

Slowly she drew her hands back. There was an uproar behind her as her little army started yelling, so she stood and yelled as loud as she could. 

“Shut it! Everyone, go play in the celebration field. And won't someone go get my dad?” she roared and managed to dispel the crowd. A few of the older ones ran off in a different direction while two cousins, Marroc Knotwise and Robin Took, stayed behind. 

“What is it, Liz?” Marroc piped up as he slid down into the ditch, followed closely behind by Robin. 

“It's a Man. One of the big ones.”

“Or an elf. You haven't seen its ears yet.” Robin pointed out, a grin on her face. 

“Or an orc! Or an uruk-hai, like in the stories your dads tell us sometimes.” Marroc said suddenly and he seemed to stutter for a second, unsure if he should stay in the ditch or run. “They're all Man shaped.” 

“Yeah.” Lisabet murmured, looking back down at the shape. There was a quick silence before she knelt down again and, very slowly, lifted the blanket just enough to see the shape of a hand beyond. Relief flooded her and she stood again, smiling, “If it's an orc, it's a ruddy pale one.”

Marroc seemed the most relieved while Robin just shrugged, looking indeed a little bit disappointed. 

“Here it is,” said a new voice, another one of her cousins. Lisabet's father and a couple of his friends (and her uncles), Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, appeared over the lip of the ditch. 

“There you are, love! What've you found?” Lisabet's father exclaimed before he too came into the ditch, followed by her two uncles. 

“A person, I think.” Lisabet replied and her father frowned as he bent down next to the figure.

“How comes he's under a blanket?” He mused. The group fell silent for a few spare seconds as Lisabet's father slowly removed 

Lisabet had been right-- it was indeed a human. As she'd seen a few minutes prior, the figure was pale, but she couldn't see the person's features as they were lying face down. Their clothes were dark and simple, and raggedy, and very few layers. No jewellery or anything. The figure must've been poor, but they were also completely clean-- fluffy hair, clear skin, no dirt anywhere save from the dust from the dry ditch. the veil.

As the shroud was gently peeled away, Lisabet gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. The figure lying face down and was indeed very pale, wearing only tattered black and brown clothes that seemed like he’d fashioned them himself from old burlap sacks and ancient curtains. But it wasn’t his clothing or his paleness that struck Lisabet-- it was his hair. It was nearly white! All encircled about his head like a veil of wintertime snow. Lisabet knelt by her father and ever so carefully picked up and held just a lock of his pale hair. 

“Lisabet, could you check his ears for me?” Her father whispered and she did so, gingerly parting the strangers hair at the side of his head. Once the stranger’s rounded ears were visible, her father sighed heavily-- almost in relief-- and he motioned for Lisabet to help him.

 

About an hour later, after quite a considerable effort, the man had been hauled out of the ditch and had been carted to Lisabet Gamgee’s home, Bag End, underneath the shroud that had first covered him. He was laid near the fire, as none of the beds would fit him. His skin was icy cold to the touch so they made sure to warm him through, and it took a long time for the man to wake up. By the time the strange human was stirring, supper had long since passed-- it was now eleven o’clock at night. 

“Surely you’re wanted home by now, Marroc Knotwise?” Peregrin Took said through a half-mouthful of leftover bread. Marroc shrugged, adjusting his jerkin. 

“Lisabet wanted us round tonight anyway, considering tomorrow’s the big day and all.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Lisabet’s dad said before getting up suddenly from the table. “I had something I wanted to give you before tomorrow’s celebration, since you’ll be busy.” He left the room, Lisabet’s eyes following him all the way-- they’d all since decided to sit at the dinner table to talk and play cards, checking on the strange man every once in a while. Once her father was out of sight, Lisabet looked to Robin for support, who prodded her playfully. 

“Early birthday present! Wonder what it is?” 

“Now, daughter, don’t tease.” Uncle Peregrin grinned, amused as he puffed on his pipe. Lisabet was about to say something when her father called out from the other room. 

“Somebody get the kettle on! And bring through that soup we saved at supper-- he’s awake!” 

Within minutes, everyone and the cat was huddled around the human. Lisabet’s father had helped the man sit up, but now that Lisabet could see the human’s face in motion, she saw that he was probably much younger than she’d first guessed. He was a boy, really, but still he was almost irresponsibly tall. He shook as he shakily spooned tiny mouthfuls of the mushroom soup into his mouth; for someone so thin, so pale, so obviously hungry, he ate slower than anyone she’d ever met. 

“Who are you, lad?” Her father asked him as Marroc returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug of tea, “Where are you from?”

“I…” The human croaked out, raspy, and Lisabet’s father gently took the mug of tea from Marroc and pressed it into the human’s hands. 

“Drink up. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere. Now, Lisabet, would you kindly come with me? We should talk.”

Lisabet stood, brushing off her apron and silently following her father through the corridors of Bag End till they got to the pantry. Lisabet shut the door behind them.

“Now, Lisabet. There’s something I need to tell you. I know now might not be the best of times but we don’t really have any other option. Do you promise to listen?”

“Yes, da.” Lisabet said, straightening her clothes, leaning back against a shelf with her hands firmly in her apron pockets. 

“Right. Listen close and don’t you be interrupting, now.” Her father took a deep breath, and began. “First things first, then. It’s been twenty eight years now since your mother left us, rest her soul. She knew she wouldn’t be around when you came of age, so she and I, we made sure that she would be able to leave you something behind.” Her father dug about in his pockets for a minute before pulling out a couple of small packages, wrapped in paper and cloth and twine. There were three packets all together-- a small box that would fit in her palm, a book-shaped parcel, and a hefty but soft package. “Go on, now. Open them-- small one first, big one last.” 

Lisabet did what she was told as he father pulled up some of the spare stools for them to sit on. She carefully peeled the paper off from the little packet and saw a small, intricate wooden box clumsily carved with images of ivy vines and flowers. She carefully undid the clasp and opened the box to see two rings settled next to one another on a bed of soft, pretty cloth. She gasped at their beauty and she hesitated, before looking closer. The first ring was a simple silver band inset with an opal stone and two small pearls. The second was a gold braided band that shimmered strangely in the dim candlelight of the pantry-- the metal braided like a plaited bread loaf and hammered flat. The two rings were held by a fine but sturdy gold chain. As Lisabet examined these beautiful things, her father explained. 

“That silver one was the one I gave your mother on our wedding day. Pearls from the western shore, and an opal from the dwarven mines. Beautiful, isn’t it? And the gold one’s a very old elven ring, for good luck I think. Try them on, love, see if they fit.” Lisabet did so, but she found that her mother’s wedding band was too small, and the elven one too large, so she looped them back on the necklace and clasped it around her neck. 

She opened the next present. This was indeed a book-- a thick, leatherbound journal with beautiful thick paper, each page blank, and her name embossed on the front-- ‘Lisabet Gamgee’. Again, as she inspected the fine leatherwork, her dad spoke.

“It’s for you to write a journal in, about people you meet and the places you see. Maybe even draw those pictures you’re so good at nowadays.”

“It’s wonderful, pa.” 

“Now, open the last one.”

Lisabet got to work unwrapping the final package, and once the paper fell away, the contents unfurled. A heavy, liquid-like form slipped through her grasp and clattered to the ground, followed by a much lighter softer serpent-like thing. She froze for a moment, hands still gripping the thick black fabric of the third item from the package, before she realised that the soft serpent had just been a scarf, knitted in oranges and reds that nearly resembled a big corn snake. The heavy thing was chainmail, old but sturdy, and the black fabric was a cloak that reached her ankles. She excitedly pulled the chainmail up over her head, followed by the scarf and cloak. 

“Oh, da!” She cried out as she grinned, launching at her father and pulling him into a tight hug. Her father laughed along with her, gripping her tightly. He was warm, his jerkin scratchy on her face-- but there was something wrong. He was holding her tighter than normal, and he wasn’t letting go. It reminded her of one of her many older cousins, Iran Blackroot-- when he’d left the Shire two years ago, heading East, he’d hugged her this same way. Goodness, he’d be fifty soon! She weighed her feelings in her heart, and pulled her father in tighter once she settled. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” She whispered, and the words brought sharp tears to her eyes. She felt her father nod as he patted her back, drawing her in even closer. 

“Yes, love. I don’t mean to pull a Bilbo on everyone, but… I can’t stand it here anymore.” 

“Pa?” She whispered, stunned at her father’s sudden bitter words. They drew apart and her father clamped his hands down onto her shoulders. 

“I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. For now, though, don’t tell a soul, you understand?” 

“Where are you going to go? When will you come back?” 

“West, across the sea, to the Undying Lands-- and once I am there, I will never return.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I--” Her father began before noise rose from somewhere else in the house. He whipped his head over his shoulder. “We don’t have time now. Check on my desk. There will be a book, a map, and a letter. Read the letter, read the book. I love you so, so much.” He drew her into another hug, one far shorter than Lisabet would’ve preferred, before he left the pantry. Lisabet stood, frozen for a half minute, before the noise rose up again and she too darted out, back to the living room where the human had finally been persuaded to sit back down. A welt had formed on his head-- she looked up at the ceiling, to the beams and rafters, and supposed that he’d stood up too quickly and had hit his head.

“Finish your soup, you daft lad!” Her Uncle Pippin said, handing the bowl of mushroom soup back to the human while Uncle Merry pressed the mug of tea back into the human’s hand. “What did you go standing up like that for?”

“I have to leave. There is something that needs doing with the utmost urgency.” He said, no longer croaky and groggy. His voice was clear, toned evenly, with a sort of accent that Lisabet had never heard before. 

“By cor! For a round-ear you don’t half sound like an elf.” Her father said with a hearty chuckle, as if they hadn’t just had their conversation. The human’s pale eyebrows rose as he set the soup and tea down, feeling at his ears and face. Her father hummed then, an eyebrow raised. “What-- forget what you look like?” 

“Have you a mirror?” The human asked. Robin guffawed but Marroc elbowed her, and she quickly choked back her words. 

“I’ll go get one.” Robin mumbled and she quickly left the room. The human drank from the tea, his hands no longer shaking, and he winced and furrowed his brow before he forced himself to drink the rest of it too. 

“...is that meant to have things in it?” He said, and Uncle Merry took the cup, peering down into it. 

“Goodness, Marroc Knotwise! Did you not pour the tea through the filter?” He said, putting the cup under Marroc’s nose. 

“I swear I did!” Marroc started, before he frowned and looked thoughtful as he peered into the cup. “...hmm. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t think I did, actually.” Uncle Merry then took a sip of whatever was leftover and Lisabet had to contain her laughter as her uncle, too, winced. 

“No sugar, either! No wonder he didn’t like it.”

“I--”

“Don’t worry lad. I’m guessing you dropped a teapot once and now your mother doesn’t let you near it?” Marroc nodded after a pause, his cheeks reddening as Uncle Merry clapped him kindly on the shoulder. “I’ll go make him another cup.”

Robin returned with the mirror-- she’d had difficulty finding a small one, apparently, so she’d unhooked the one in the bathroom-- and she held it in front of the human. He went slackjawed as soon as he saw his face. He leaned forwards, almost spilling the mushroom soup, and closely examined his features. He ran a hand through his hair, holding it close. He feather took a candle from the heart and held it close, and Lisabet withheld a gasp. His hair had been brilliant enough in the daylight, but by candle… she squinted closer. She found her new necklace and the rings held upon it, and she found her mother’s wedding ring. She leaned in close, putting the opal stone right up close to the human’s hair, and found that they were almost identical. The opal stone was flecked with fiery reds and greens, all the colours under the sun, and under the close light the human’s hair had the exact same quality. She reached out and touched it, but the human recoiled instantly and shot her a look of confusion and vague anger.

“She didn’t mean any harm,” Her father swooped in, getting her by the shoulders and steering her away. The man’s expression softened somewhat, and he turned away, mumbling to himself. Lisabet’s father let go and, once she was certain the man couldn’t see her, she stuck her tongue out at him and huffed. As Uncle Merry returned from the kitchen, Robin and Marroc finally noticed that Lisabet was wearing her new clothes and chainmail.

“What in the Middle-Earth are you wearing?” Robin gaped, and the room just kept getting louder as Lisabet tried to explain and as Marroc and Robin subsequently argued about what was going on, which then lead to her Uncles having a conversation about how ridiculous this all really was. Lisabet shut her mouth when she saw the human had begun to flinch and had pushed the mirror away-- her father noticed this a split second afterwards. 

“SHUT UP! Every single one of you! Can’t you tell you’re making our guest uncomfortable?” Lisabet’s father roared, and finally the room went quiet. “Lisabet just got her birthday presents a little early, that’s all. Now then. Robin, Marroc-- do you know where the bed things are?”

“Of course.” Marroc said and Robin nodded. 

“Go and get yourselves comfy in Lisabet’s room. Make your beds and whatnot. I’ll send Lisabet in with a snack and some chamomile tea later on. Go on, now.” He shooed them away and away they went. “Pippin, would you get us all a bit of spiced wine?” 

“For our guest, too?” 

“Yes, yes.” And Uncle Pippin left too, making his own way to the pantry.

“And me?” Uncle Merry asked. “Shall I get the lad some better food?” 

“Might as well. His soup’s gone cold, after all.” 

“What would you like me to do, da?”

“Nothing for now. Come sit down.” Her father gestured, and she pulled a chair over from the table and sat down in it, her cheeks flushing as she tried not to feel ridiculous in her new clothes. What sort of a hobbit was she? Trouncing around in these, even at home. Anybody could mistake her for a vagrant. She slumped into the chair and stewed, arms crossed, as her father spoke. 

“Now then, sir. Do you know your name?” 

“I remember now. I am Ruichanar, of… of somewhere. And I need to go that way,” He said, sluggishly pointing off in a seemingly random direction, “and I need to do it quickly.”

“Do you remember what it is you have to do, Ruichanar?” Lisabet’s father asked, and it was at this point that Lisabet finally drew herself out of her grump and she leaned forwards, hand on her chin as she nodded thoughtfully, trying her very best to help this ‘Ruichanar’ feel welcome and listened to. Ruichanar himself frowned and thought for a minute.

“I… hm. I… I must find something. Someone. Two people. They have been… I feel that they have been away for too long, and have done something wrong, and I am to bring them home. I must do it quickly. Someone…” Ruichanar winced squeezing his eyes shut, before they flew open and he started, his brilliant green eyes flashing with both anger and fear, “...people are in danger! Wherever their reach stretches, wherever the wind blows-- the people are in danger. I must leave immediately--!” He cried, standing quickly as Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin returned. He made for the door, but Lisabet helped her father and uncles wrestle him back down into the chair. He staggered, and then began to struggle, “Unhand me!” 

“Now, we only mean to help! Just sit down!” Uncle Merry cried, before the unthinkable happened-- a darkness, one that choked out the light from the fire and the candles, one that made the windows fly open with the force of a gale, one that settled a terrible unease upon the room, exploded out from Ruichanar’s suddenly massive frame-- did her eyes deceive her, or did Lisabet see that Ruichanar had grown several inches taller? That his hair suddenly resembled the long furry mane of the white wolf, that his eyes went dark, his pupils thin? 

“Manen vér- tye?!” He spat, eyes almost ablaze, and Lisabet immediately let go. What sort of a language was that?! “Ni enyal- titta, mal ni sinte i sina rúcima displaime na- saur. Láv- me ana lende foray sí!” His words-- filled with such will, such anger, such hate, almost repelled Lisabet away. Who was he?  _ What _ was he?

“Sir, please. We mean no harm. We’re only worried about you. You were half-dead when we found you and we just want to make sure you’re alright!” Her father countered, battling against the darkness to stand upright, has hands outstretched. Ruichanar faltered, the darkness fading somewhat, and his beastly appearance faded fully as he collapsed back into the chair. The horrible feeling receded, and Lisabet could do nothing more than simply stand there, braced against the table, wheezing. 

“I…” Ruichanar began, before he huffed and stopped. 

“You don’t need to apologise. It wasn’t fair of us to hold you down. Won’t you at least eat before you leave?” Her father said, and while Lisabet disagreed, she supposed that he was indeed the host and that what he said went. Ruichanar thought for a moment and nodded, and allowed the tray of bread, cheese, and various preserved meats alongside some fresh apples and grapes to be placed into his lap. The spiced wine followed soon after, and Lisabet only took a few scant sips before she palmed her cup off to Pippin. Red wine-- pah! No matter how many spices were in it, it would never be tasty enough to actually drink a whole mug, let alone this tiny glass. 

As Ruichanar ate, her father and uncles tried to alleviate the tension by making small talk between themselves-- how nice Lisabet’s new scarf was, how thoughtful, how good the weather would be tomorrow, and whether or not this summer would be too hot or too moist for the next fruit harvest, or if the barley in the storehouses would rot. Lisabet didn’t want to leave because, despite how rude he’d been, this Ruichanar fellow certainly was interesting-- and she knew that if she spent more than ten waking minutes with Robin Took and Marroc Knotwise, she would tell them everything that her father had said she shouldn’t tell them. All she had to do was wait for a day, and then her father would be gone and then they’d already know the secrets. And what of the book, the map, and the letter that her father had directed her towards? What was in those? Undoubtedly more secrets, secrets that she desperately wanted to know.

She was drawn from her thoughts by Ruichanar, clearing his throat. Once he’d caught her reluctant attention, he sliced off parts of the cheese, bread, meat and fruit, sectioned them off onto a small plate, and handed it to her. 

“My apologies. I was rude to you before.” His voice was even again, melodic. She hesitated before she took the plate, carefully picking up a piece of cheese and nibbling on it. She sat down again, opposite Ruichanar, and there was a lengthy and awkward pause before he spoke again. “They are beautiful rings. Whose were they?” 

“The silver one was my mother’s. Her wedding ring, da said.” Lisabet mumbled, not expecting him to hear, but he nodded thoughtfully as if he understood. 

“And the gold?” 

“I… I don’t know whose it was. Da said it was elven, and that it would bring good luck.”

“And I hope it does.” They fell into silence again, as Lisabet finished her strange little tribute and as Ruichanar finished his food and wine. Eventually, he set the tray aside and stood, drawing the attention of Lisabet’s father and her uncles. Her father stood and bowed slightly, her uncles graciously following his lead. 

“It was a pleasure hosting you, Ruichanar.” 

“I am not leaving yet.” He said, and her father’s face flushed while her uncles tittered. “But… I must go outside for a bit and do something. I will be back in about an hour, maybe two. Would it trouble you to let me sleep here for a night?”

“No, sir, not at all. You can stay here as long as you want, if needs be!” Her father said, and Ruichanar nodded as he straightened his robes and headed to the door. Lisabet followed him and opened the door, curtsying slightly as he ducked through the rounded doorway. He stood outside in the front garden for a moment, breathing in the brisk night air, and Lisabet stood beside him. 

“What is it that you’re doing?” She asked. 

“I am calling for someone. I was told by my master that, by my nature, I cannot do my task alone. That is all I remember of him-- except that he gave me this horn to call my companion by.” He said breezily, drawing from his robes a white hunting-horn that was encrusted in silver filigree. Even in his hand it seemed large, and heavy, and Lisabet felt an immense need to see just how heavy it really was. She reached out, a finger brushing against the pale surface of the horn, and she shivered. Ruichanar seemed to huff before he unlooped whatever strap had attached it to him and dropped it into her hands. 

“Wow!” She gasped: now that the hunting-horn was in her grip she could really see just how massive it was, but it was lighter than she thought. Yes, it was still heavy, but not as heavy as she had first assumed. Ruichanar took it back when she was done. 

“Ready? Oh, um. You may want to cover your ears.” 

She did so, watching his Ruichanar took the horn in both hands, raised it to his lips, and blew hard. The sound was strange. It was melodic, not at all harsh like Lisabet had been expecting, and instead of playing on the outside, it played on the inside. That was the only way she could hope to describe it-- she heard it, felt it, within her being-- and she felt a tug towards it. She drew her hands away from her ears but clapped them back as Ruichanar blew again. 

Some dogs in nearby gardens started to bark and howl, and a light flickered to life in a neighbour’s window. Ruichanar stopped, and Lisabet let her hands fall to her sides. 

“Well, that didn’t take an hour.” 

“I am going on a walk.” He said, walking down the garden and-- and stepping over the fence, not even bothering with the gate. Lisabet halted, before hurriedly unlatching the gate and following him down the dirt pathway. 

“What? Why?” 

“Well, to keep blowing the horn. Eventually, they will come to me. When I am done, I will return here, and sleep. In the morning, I will leave.” 

“‘I am’, ‘I will’, ‘I must’, ‘I have’, ‘they have’-- would it really kill you to contract your words? You sound like some sort of stuffy old scholar who hasn’t said hello to somebody in a couple of decades.” 

“Is it custom here to contract?”

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed. There’s no need to sound quite so formal all the bleeding time!” She said, stepping quickly to keep up with Ruichanar’s massive strides. 

“I will-- I’ll-- do my best to comply with these traditions.” 

“Well,” Lisabet mumbled, cheeks flushing, “well you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to sound quite so rude.”  
“No, I understand. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Again, awkward silence, and they trotted along in the near darkness until they reached a crossroads. Ruichanar shook himself, lifted the horn up, and blew. Lisabet kept her hands down, just to see how loud it really was, but again, it was only playing on the inside. More dogs, barking, and again she felt drawn to the horn. 

Onwards they walked, eventually getting to the bit of the nearby woods where the bluebells had blossomed earlier in the year. They stopped, and again he blew the horn. 

“What would your companion feel? When they hear the horn?” She blurted out, stammering. Ruichanar hummed, mulling the question over. 

“Well, I imagine they’d feel a connection to it. An urge to find it, or be close to it. To go wherever the horn was blown, or to where the horn is.” 

“And do you know who the companion is?” 

“No. I’m looking forward to the surprise.” Ruichanar shrugged, but then he paused, turning and squinting at Lisabet, who squirmed under his examining stare. “Why do you ask?”

“I… um…” She said, before she tried to explain how she could hear the horn in her head instead of through her ears, and how she felt drawn to it. Ruichanar’s squint turned into a look of befuddlement, and then a frown. 

“What strange luck to have been taken in by you before I’d even blown the horn.” He eventually said, shrugging as he tucked the horn back into his robes. “Well, we leave in the morning. Be ready.”

And he swept off, back in the direction of Bag End, and Lisabet gaped in his direction before she ran after him. 


	2. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisabet makes a choice that will change her life forever.

“You can’t just-- you can’t just decide that I’m coming with you on whatever stupid quest you’re going on!” Lisabet cried angrily, waving her arms as she jogged to keep up with Ruichanar. Inside her heart a conflict raged-- surely if she felt drawn to that stupid horn’s calling, she was the ‘companion’? But who knows? Maybe it was just because she was stood so close. When the dogs had barked, maybe they’d been drawn to it in a similar way.

    “I’m sorry, but I don’t make the rules. If you heard the horn and needed to be near it, then that is that. You’re the companion. If you don’t come with me, I will not be able to fulfill my duty. It’s in my very--” Ruichanar sighed. His nonchalance fanned the flame of Lisabet’s anger.

    “--nature, yeah yeah, whatever.” She interrupted. “You know, you’re a real piece of work. I don’t want to go with you! Surely I’m not the companion. How can I possibly go with you? I’ve never even gotten close to the leaving the Shire, not even when I ran away when I was ten. I got as far as Farmer Maggot’s fields before I got caught. What makes you think I can go East?” Lisabet yelled, arms flailing as she pointed in an accusatory manner at the back of Ruichanar’s seemingly uncaring head. How dare he?!

    “I didn’t choose you, the horn did.” Ruichanar shrugged, and Lisabet saw red.

    “That horn is just a hunk of castoff from some stupid old goat, and just because it has some pretty tooting it doesn’t mean that I have some almighty destiny! If I threw my fingernail into a crowd, would I choose the idiot whose hair it landed in to be my fucking spouse?!” She roared, cheeks flushed in the chilled night air, and all of a sudden she found herself nose-to-nose with Ruichanar as he turned on his heel and bent down to get in her face, again that dark weight settling on her. His eyes were beastly again, flashing green and feline, and his suddenly claw-like hands hovered just inches over her shoulders as if he wanted to dig his nails in and shake her to-and-fro in frustration.

    “‘That horn’ as you so call it belongs to my master, and has seen more of this whole world than you can ever hope to glimpse. You are a fool to even consider ignoring the signs!” Ruichanar bore his teeth as he hissed- strangely white, strangely straight. None of her cousins or elders, not even her father, had teeth quite so straight-- and if they were blessed to be straight, they’d been stained with tobacco and pipeweed long since.

    “If that horn is so important, why doesn’t it have a name?” She hissed back, trying to cast away the uneasy feeling that had settled like dust all over her.

    “Of course it has a name! It’s name is…” Ruichanar trailed off, and he squinted, the imposing feeling of darkness receding as Ruichanar’s confidence waned. Lisabet faltered, her own cheeks flushing as he stood and rubbed the back of his head. “It… it has a name,” he mumbled, turning away, “but I don’t remember it.”

    “How convenient.” Lisabet scoffed, again following him-- his gait was slowed somewhat though, so she didn’t have to run. She did feel a bit guilty though-- how agonising it must be to know something so certainly and then suddenly not remember even the most basic of things! It had taken him a good while to even remember his name, after all, and he didn’t even know what his own face looked like. She held her breath for a moment before sighing, rubbing her face. Oh, what a puzzle. He ignored her right up until they got back to Bag End, at which point he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and he turned to face Lisabet.

    “I realise this may be difficult for you. It wasn’t fair of me to demand you to come with me. You can choose to stay or go, but know that I would much rather you to come as the horn has chosen you to do so.”

    “I just--!” Lisabet started before she huffed, and put her hands on her hips.

    What could she do? It was her thirty-third birthday in the morning! She couldn’t miss it! It had taken weeks to properly organise, and it wasn’t like she could just cancel it. Not to mention the journey would be dangerous, fraught with all sorts of nasty things, like bad weather, terrible food, and maybe even bandits on the roads! Besides, normal hobbits didn’t leave the Shire. Her father, bless his heart, worked hard but spoke to very few… and those he did speak to were more often than not her Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin, who’d gone on half that horrible ‘adventure’ with him-- and they weren’t exactly the most normal of hobbits about! It was hard enough getting those looks, those questions from the neighbours: ‘What scars has your da got?’ or ‘does your da wake up screaming?’ or all sorts of horrid, venomous gossip-dredging nonsense.

It wasn’t like their guesses hadn’t been true-- her father had calluses on his feet and hands from bearing more than tools, and burns that had come from something worse than a fire. And of course he had night terrors! Judging by the stories he told her, he’d had every reason to have them. Still, she’d whacked a fair few cousins who hadn’t held their tongues and she’d even bitten a fair few more when she was younger and less restrained, but all the questions and looks were a torture she couldn’t bear. And she hadn’t even been with him! Lisabet could hardly imagine what looks she’d be subject to if she actually left the Shire. Surely none of her cousins would speak to her again? Not to mention her Da wouldn’t be there when, or even if, she returned.

    The thought created a hard wedge of clay in her throat, prickled at her eyes and sent tears rolling down her still-dirty cheeks. Again, she felt reidiculous weighed down by the chainmail, and as her face flushed it felt like the orange knitted scarf was indeed a corn snake that was trying to strangle her. Her Da! It finally struck her. He was leaving no matter what, but… but surely she could make the journey with him West, at least to the docks, to say goodbye? She would miss her birthday party for that, of course. But to go East was the complete opposite direction! He would leave like a ghost in the wee hours of the morning, when the light had barely eased through the dark blueness of dawn. He would make the journey West alone! And she would never see him again!

    Lisabet supposed that he had already said goodbye, in his own strange way. After all, her father had never actually said the word ‘goodbye’ to her. Not once! Plenty of ‘hello’s and ‘goodnight’s, but never once had he said goodbye. She thought so more as tears that felt the size of pebbles ran in rivulets down her face. She blinked and choked back a sob that still somehow clawed its way through her ever-tightening throat. Not even now, as he was about to leave her forever, did he say goodbye.

    “I’m… did I make you cry?” Ruichanar said softly, and in the gentle light from the windows Lisabet looked up and saw raw, genuine concern and confusion on his face, “Did I do something wrong?”

    Lisabet really needed a hug, and she really needed to talk to someone-- but Ruichanar was exactly the wrong person to talk to. She had to talk to Robin and Marroc.

    “Will you let me sleep on it?” she said, upon realising that she had gotten carried away on the thought of her father and hadn’t actually thought about the question properly. Ruichanar’s expression turned somewhat before he sighed and finally opened the door.

    “Yes, though I will need an answer as soon as possible.”

    Lisabet said no more as she scurried through the round doorway and straight into her room. Marroc and Robin looked up right away, and as soon as Robin had opened her mouth she shut it again. Lisabet whirled and quietly shut the door-- she’d since learned not to slam her doors if she didn’t want to be disturbed because it was a sure sign she was upset-- before she roughly unwound the scarf and threw it, followed swiftly by the cloak and the chainmail (although she didn’t throw the chainmail and instead dropped it onto the laundry heap by her wardrobe).

    “What in the blazes happened to you, girl?” Robin whispered, almost as in tune to Lisabet’s emotional signals as Lisabet’s father and uncles were, and it took all of Lisabet’s strength to not openly wail. Instead, she charged past her friends, swiftly unbuttoned her jerkin and blouse, burrowed her way into bed like a weasel and sobbed to her heart’s content.

 

    Lisabet stayed that way for a good long while. Every time she dared to think that she was done crying or that she had run out of tears, she remembered something else and immediately began bawling again. She was numbly glad that she’d taken off her blouse because she’d have surely ruined it otherwise. Robin and Marroc hadn’t even tried to take her blanket and duvet away, bless their hearts, and had instead resorted to sitting on the edge of the bed, occasionally providing a few comforting pats. Eventually though, lost in her thoughts, her tears stopped flowing, and eventually Marroc coaxed her out.

She sat up and cocooned herself in her blankets, still shivering, as Robin left and then returned with a big pot of chamomile tea, some mugs, the jar of honey and a little tray of tasty little tidbits she’d probably stealthily scrounged from the pantry. Robin declared that Lisabet should change into proper sleeping clothes and, while Marroc picked out a suitably soft nightgown from the dresser, Lisabet found that she’d lost almost all of her energy and needed some help in the complicated task of unlacing her dress, which Robin graciously did for her. Soon they were all in sleeping clothes, sipping their honey-sweetened tea and nibbling on salami slices and brie, and Lisabet was ready to talk and she had two sets of readied ears.

And talk she did. Even though she’d promised, and even though it pained her to break that promise, she told them that her father was leaving within a matter of hours and that nobody would ever see him again, save for those already in the Undying Lands.

“So all his stories are true? He really went East?” Marroc whispered, as if he would be punished simply for saying the words.

“You didn’t believe him?” Lisabet asked, too exhausted to be angry or surprised.

“I mean. Whenever he told those stories, he just made them sound like stories. Things he made up to keep us quiet. My papa has different stories, after all. He says they started off together, but…” Robin began, trailing off and shrugging, before she laughed slightly and nudged Marroc. “Remember when we all stayed the night at mine and my da told me about the Battle of the Pelennor Fields-- showed us his scars? And how the next morning we roped all the children in a ten mile radius into doing a battle of our own in the bluebell woods?”

“Aye, I remember. It lasted all day and part of the night. I got chased by the Blackroot Boys and had to hide in the stream, under that little wooden bridge we made. What fun!” Marroc grinned, a smile that swiftly faded, “...but imagine all those Men, all those horrible big beasts with the tusks… your dad made it sound so triumphant when we were young, but now I’m thinking about it, it really must’ve been scary.”

“I wonder what he made of it? Seeing us have fun at his expense?” Lisabet added flatly, a ghost of a smile twisting the corner of her mouth.

“Well, it could’ve been worse. I used to pretend to be one of those Ring-Wraiths he told us about,” Marroc immediately barked with laughter, eventually coaxing a full smile and some chuckles from Lisabet. Proud of the response, Robin continued much to their amusement, “I’d chase him about the house with a blanket over my head, waving a little stick at him.”

“Oh, goodness! It’s a wonder we’ve not been kicked out yet. If only we’d had some sense!”

“What sort of journey do you think it was? Six years, da said they’d been gone.Maybe more. Six years, away from the Shire, battling the forces of evil wherever they stepped.” Lisabet murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “So far away from home.” A pause as the trio fell quiet. They knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t just making a statement, or thinking aloud-- or that if she did, she didn’t do so without a solid purpose. “What would you do? If you had to go on a journey like that?”

“Well I’d ask you two to come with me, of course.” Marroc answered first, shifting as he drank the last dregs of his tea. He spoke as he refilled his cup, stirring honey into the water. “Can’t be going on a six-year-long journey, fraught with danger and who knows what else, without you two with me.”

“Aye, I’d ask the same. And, for what it’s worth, I’d come with either of you if you so asked.”

“You’d really do that? Drop everything? Leave home, risk limb and maybe even life, just to accompany one of us on a journey?” Lisabet asked, her voice low, and the other two finally seemed to twig what she was asking of them. Marroc faltered and cast a glance over to Robin and then back to Lisabet as Robin fixed her with a long, hard, but not unkind stare. Oh, goodness-- herein began the Great Debate. They had a habit of talking about something by not talking about it.

“Well. It depends on where we’d be hypothetically going, and what would be involved,” Robin hummed, taking on a haughty expression as she rested her chin daintily on one hand. Marroc, too, recognised the pattern and he groaned. Robin continued, ignoring Marroc, “and, of course, why one of us would hypothetically want to leave.”

“What if one of us had been asked? Or urged to leave?”

“Well, what force could potentially cause that to happen?”

“Would it matter?”

“Of cour--” Robin bit back, both their replies speeding up, before Marroc put a hand between them. A routine they’d played our many times before-- the thinly veiled argument and Marroc’s inevitable intervention.

“Right! You two stop that. Lisabet! Give me a straight answer or say nothing. Did the stranger ask you to go on a journey with him?”

“Yes.” Lisabet said after a moment of hesitation, and Robin huffed but said nothing.

“Did he tell you why?” Marroc asked, eyes widened only slightly more.

And Lisabet explained about the horn, how she’d felt drawn to it when Ruichanar had sounded it. She voiced her concerns, too-- about how the feeling might’ve just stemmed from being so close, but then she also expressed her doubts. Bless their hearts, they sat still and listened as Lisabet debated with herself about whether or not to go. Eventually she ran her throat hoarse and gratefully drank deeply from the water cup Robin handed her.

They sat in silence for a minute that seemed to stretch on for much longer. Finally, graciously, Robin broke the quiet.

“Well it looks to me like you’ve just had the opportunity to go on an adventure of your lifetime. If you asked it of us, I would go with you.”

“I would, too.” Marroc pitched in.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Lisabet murmured, still unsure, and Robin reached out and took Lisabet’s hands into her own.

“Look at it this way; your father is going to leave regardless. You can stay here and wallow in your self-pity and sadness. You can sit glumly at your party and then live out the rest of your life rattling around in this house.”

“I wouldn’t--!” Lisabet started, highly offended, but Robin simply gave her one stern look with a raised eyebrow. Lisabet bit back her words, shifting in place as her cheeks flushed hotly.

“...or, you can follow this call to adventure, this chance of a lifetime, and make something more of yourself than some farmer’s wife. It doesn’t matter if we come back or not. We’ll be together. I’ll stick with you no matter what, and Marroc will too.”

Lisabet bit her lip.

“Who’ll look after the house?”

“I’ll write a note for da and Uncle Merry. Ask them to stick about. No doubt your da might’ve already asked them to.”

“I’ll write one to drop by my house when we leave. Parchment and ink still all in the same places, Liz?” Marroc whispered, getting up and straightening the cotton of his loose overshirt. Lisabet gaped and held up a hand, feeling herself get paler.

“Hang on! Just… hold fast for a minute, there. Are we really doing this?”

“Lisabet Elanor Gamgee, you look at me. You’re not seriously going to ignore such a blatant call to your destiny, are you?” Marroc said, his warm golden eyes creased and his eyebrows raised as far as they could go. Lisabet stuttered and stammered, ruminating, before she fell quiet. No, she supposed-- how could anyone ignore this?

“Okay. Okay.” A weight settled in her heart and some fresh tears appeared at the corner of her already aching eyes. “Okay. I’ll, um. You two write the letters and fetch some bags out the cupboard-- start packing. Do we all still fit into eachother’s clothes?”

“Well, this is _your_ shirt that I’m wearing, so…” Marroc shrugged and Robin suppressed a giggle. Lisabet nodded, swallowing her fear.

“I’ll go get some food and water skeins, and I’ll tell Ruichanar on the way.”

A warm smile spread across Robin’s face as she got to work straight away, and Marroc was close behind her after gently clapping Lisabet on the shoulder. Lisabet stood there, frozen for a minute as the reality sunk in, but she shook herself. There was no time. She had to get all this done quickly if they wanted to get enough sleep.

She quickly darted out of her room, careful not to make a single noise-- she suddenly remembered and thusly successfully avoided that one horribly squeaky floorboard. She paused and listened carefully-- no noise came from anywhere else in the house. Surely everybody else was either asleep or had left?

She sped to the pantry yet again. She swiped three large cloths, ones that they’d used just days before during a picnic at the edge of the woods, and thought carefully. They were going on a journey… no perishables. No fruit, nothing fresh. Only stuff that could keep for a long while.

She grit her jaw and thought quickly. Feeding three hobbits for an indefinite amount of time wasn’t exactly easy: they’d have to cut down to the very basic meals, with maybe a snack or two. And money-- their rations wouldn’t last them forever. They’d have to take money, too. She filled the three biggest water skeins as she thought, and once she was done, picked the food.

She made the roughest of estimates that there would be ten days. They should have ten day’s worth of basic food, and they could scavenge or maybe even hunt the rest. First, she grabbed the cheese-- they had hundreds of small cheese portions, tiny wheels of herby cheddar that could fit in the palm of her hand-- but she realised that the ration of a cheese wheel a day was a bit indulgent because she’d then ended up with thirty small wheels. Always in her mind was the weight that they’d have to carry, and finding the balance between staying fed and keeping their load light. She cut the ration right down in the middle, and decided that half a wheel would have to do per day, and she split the fifteen bits of cheese between the three cheesecloths. Five miniature wheels each.

Next, she chose salami. Dried, spiced sausages as long as her forearm (wrist to elbow) and as thick as two of her fingers dangled temptingly from a shelf hook, and she took one and weighted it in her hands. She then tried to see what a day’s ration would look like by drawing a line down the middle and then each half into fifths… and it wasn’t much. Hmm. She put two in with one of the bags and held it, unsurely testing the weight and weighing the pros and cons, before deciding that the nutrition was more important and put two sausages in each pack.

She deliberated on the bread. Freshly baked just yesterday, sprinkled with herbs and cheese-- mm! Each roll fit nicely into her palm and was light as a feather. They were ideal… but only for a picnic. They’d probably go rock hard by day three, and then they’d just be taking up space.

She found some smaller cheesecloths and put some dried berries and salted nuts into those, tying them tightly and putting them in. She then dug around, right at the back of the pantry, and she took a long, deep breath. Held in her hands were a few inch-thick tubes, each as long as her foot, wrapped in paper and tied by twine. They’d been in this pantry for longer than she’d even been alive! But she’d snuck one out once, and had discovered that it was packed sugar, softened by a minty extract of some sort. She’d eaten the whole thing in under half an hour and had practically ran the whole distance of the Shire and back in just as much time! No doubt these had been incredibly expensive to buy or time-consuming to make: her da had told her as much when he’d found out. “Only for emergencies!” He said, scolding her as she had suddenly become very tired.

Well, she thought. It may not have been an emergency, but if she didn’t take them now, they might never be eaten, and they’d certainly be useful. She took six-- two each, to last them the journey in case they needed a useful boost.

She looked upon the food and bit her lip. It wasn't much. Was she underestimating the amount of food they'd need? Upon retrospect, each package just looked like a day's worth of food. But could they spare the space to add more? She deliberated before she added more. Another small package of dried fruit and nuts, an extra half-sausage each, and two more cheese wheels per bag. She dug around and found some little cordial bottles-- strong berry syrup, more like jam, that they could add to water to make it nicer. Each bottle was the length of a finger and just as thick as her thumb, but upon uncorking and tasting one, she winced and remembered that you only needed a small amount. She put two vials in each cloth and looked down, happy at the additions. It would still be tight, but they could scavenge! Lisabet could scrounge for mushrooms and Marroc could identify most any plant. Robin’s fishing skills were on par with a kingfisher or otter, so as long as they were near running water, they probably wouldn't starve.

Still underwhelmed but not willing to add anything else, Lisabet tied up the cheesecloths nice and tight before she suddenly remembered about Ruichanar. Not only had she forgotten to tell him, but she'd forgotten to pack him some food! Her whole face blazed pink and hot with shame as she quickly compiled a fourth ration bag and filling a fourth water skein, tying it up tight and slinging it over her shoulder with the others before she left the pantry for what felt like the last time.

Lisabet prodded Ruichanar as she took a detour through the living room. He suddenly woke, startled but not at all bleary eyed. Had he even been asleep?

“I've made my choice.” Lisabet said softly, and Ruichanar took a deep breath before he nodded, eager to hear the verdict.

“And?”

“Only on the condition that my friends can come too.”

Ruichanar thought for a while, before he nodded.

“I can agree with those terms.”

Lisabet put his ration bag and water skein in his lap and explained what they were before quickly scurrying away again, cheeks still burning as a vague feeling of dread settled over her. She was back in her room quite quickly and handed each of the others their ration packs. Marroc huffed and Robin frowned but neither said anything to oppose. Lisabet found that they'd already packed her bag-- a couple of dresses, two pairs of breeches, all in all three blouses and two shirts. There was a light leather jerkin too, and a leather belt, and a jacket or two. She dug deeper and found no underwear and she quickly darted to her draws and fished out a dozen pairs, balking at what would've happened if she hadn't checked. She also chucked a couple of books into her bag-- a smallish handbook about how to scavenge food from hedgerows and how to know what was and wasn't safe to eat. The other one was her favourite book, a romance novel about a hobbit and an elf, and she couldn't bear to leave it behind. All pages were dogeared and thumbed, the parchment far from new, but she loved it all the same. She threw in a small knife and her charcoal sticks in their brown paper packet, followed by the blank embossed journal that her father had given her just a small time prior. She paused before adding a couple small pots of ink and her prized quill.

She folded her cloak and chainmail, rolling up the knitted scarf, and set it to one side along with a dark brown dress and a cream blouse. She also managed to find some knee-length trousers, and she fished the leather jerkin and belt out from her bag and set them down on the pile. Her travelling outfit, joined by things that would really make her look like a traveller! For the first time that night, excitement bubbled up in her chest. She still couldn't really believe she was going, but the clothes were right there, staring her in the face! Butterflies flew about in her stomach and she had to hold back a noise.

“Right,” Robin said as she finished packing, “let's blow out these candles and get some sleep.”

Marroc blew out the candles and Lisabet crawled into bed while the other two made themselves comfortable. Try as she might, though, Lisabet couldn't fall asleep-- and it was only when she resigned herself to staying awake that she actually drifted off.

 

She had already known that her father wasn't going to be there, but opening the door to the study to find that he'd already left had been a punch in the gut. It was tidy. All the papers had been arranged neatly, all the books in their rightful places, and the bed had been made. She lay a hand down and found that the bed was cold-- even though it was stupidly early (as in the sun hadn't even risen), he'd been gone for quite a while.

The map, the book, and the letter were all exactly where he'd said they'd be. The book was more like a massive folio, thick and heavily bound in red leather. She opened it and flicked through the pages, and found illustrations and writing she didn't recognise, and then writing she did, with illustrations both detailed and amateur. She recognised her father's writing and drawings… but they only took up a few pages! Whose was the writing that took up the vast majority? And what story did it tell?

She shoved the book deep in her bag, making room. It would act as a brace up against her back, keeping it straight!

Next came the map. Like her romance novel, it was thumbed and dogeared and stained with who knows what. She unfolded it and gasped-- the detail! It was twice as big as that red folio, and still it was incredible. It spanned the whole of the known of Middle Earth. It was a shame about those two lines… one in red, one in blue. But both lines started at Bag End! She recognised the red line-- it was the route that her father had described, the one he'd travelled on years prior. She gasped, finally taking in the scope of the journey. Goodness! But the blue line? It showed a different journey, a different story. To the Lonely Mountain and back it roamed, with notes in that stranger’s handwriting written alongside the dots. The mystery infuriated her, but she supposed that the folio might provide her with answers. She refolded the map with care and put it in one of her belt pouches, the same one that held her hefty pouch of money.

Finally, the letter. Again the butterflies came and her hands shook as she popped off the red wax seal from the letter and unfolded it, taking time to read it.

_“Dear my Lisabet,_

_I’ll have to keep this short, for if I get in the swing of writing, I shan’t stop._

_The book is one that details the adventures of myself and your Uncle Frodo, and Mr Bilbo Baggins before us. Take care-- look after it, and write about your adventures in it. Write until it's full! The map is the same one Bilbo used, and the same one we used on our journey. That map is older than you and I combined, so respect it (though I find it's a tad unreliable at times)._

_I’ve been terrible at goodbyes my whole life, love. I don't say goodbye unless it really is the last time I see someone, and it breaks my heart every time I even think to utter the word. I'm teary just writing this! But… you should know something. No matter how far apart we are, no matter what seas or ~~muntains~~ mountains separate us, I will always be with you. I'll hold you in my heart until the very last of my days, and I hope you'll do the same.” _

The lump in Lisabet's throat grew bigger, ever bigger, and tears ran down her face. She forced herself to read the end, trying desperately to keep her breaths calm and even.

_“You should know that your mother would be so, so proud of you. I only wish she was still here. Sometimes I think that her ~~absense~~ absence turned you a little savage… maybe I let you play too rough, too long. My half-wild girl. I never could keep you indoors for very long. I only hope you get out there and see the world like your mother wanted you to. I only hope it doesn't involve a Ring! _

_I love you more than you could ever know, and I am so proud of you. Being your father, and being able to call you my daughter, is an honour beyond words._

_And with that, Lisabet…_

_Goodbye._

_\--your da”_

 

Lisabet stared at the letter, mouth agape as tears ran into the corner of her lips, nose streaming. She kept re-reading that last couple of sentences, looking at that definitive splattered full stop at the end of that goodbye. That stop hit her like a jab to the jaw, a punch to her guts, a stab in the heart. So… that was that. She dropped the letter back onto the desk and braced herself against the sturdy oakwood chair lest she fall to her knees. Where had all these other tears come from? Surely they'd all been cried last night?

Her strength failed her and she slid down the chair, down to her knees. She took some deep, ragged breaths, hoping against all hope that this was all some sort of cruel joke and that Ruichanar was a hired minstrel, who'd lead her to the birthday party where her father would be waiting, but she knew in her heart that that was a foolish notion. The violent grief washed over her anew and she took in a deep breath. She let it go, her whines and sobs quickly escalating into full-blown howling. Howling! She screamed at the varnished wooden floors, hoping that the old wood would take her grief and hold it.

Robin and Marroc quickly came through and cradled her, holding her close. Lisabet felt delicate, half-broken, and that underlying guilt that she was causing them more trouble than they deserved crept into her heart and settled there almost like soot in a chimney. They pulled her back to her feet once her crying had reduced down into upset hiccups: Lisabet rubbed her face with her hankie, straightening herself out. She folded the letter back up and place a paper weight on top, so that anybody decent would know not to read it. She supposed it could act as some sort of altar, as a permanent memory to the Gamgee family.

If she ever returned to this house, she would write a letter of her own, and then she'd burn them both.

Lisabet turned and saw Ruichanar lurking by the door, his ragged clothing swaying slightly in the draft from the open door. He motioned to them-- it was time to go-- before he blew out the candle he was holding and moved quietly from sight. Robin took the chair through and positioned it before the door, placing the long letter of explanation and instruction and goodbye there for Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin to find when they inevitably came to fetch them for the party. Passing through the green doorway into the brisk morning air was yet another loss to mourn in Lisabet's heart, but she bit back her tears and straightened her back. She fingered the rings around her neck, touched the long orange scarf, and patted both her chainmail and her new cloak. She was carrying her family and her home on both the inside and outside. The Shire was the dirt between her toes, the grime in her hair where she'd forgotten to wash it, in the pressed bluebell she used as a bookmark. The cotton and wool of her clothes had been grown and woven right here. No matter how far she walked, home would always be with her.

Ruichanar led the way, taking a detour so Marroc could tearfully push his letter through his own front door. His touch lingered on the eggshell blue paint, peeling and chipping, and he plucked a flower from the stem as he passed by the rosebush. He pushed it deep into his jerkin pocket, and swallowed his grief. He was handling it better than Lisabet had been expecting… or was she just expecting her own sorrow to be universal? Robin didn't really seem to care, but as they passed by her house with the single lit candle in the window, she too darted forth into her garden to touch her painted red door. She scratched some paint off, keeping it beneath her nails, and she took a spare few petals from the sunflowers before she, too, said goodbye to her home.

They climbed the hill and walked, quickly, as the sun was starting to rise and people would be stirring. They got into the woods in half an hour, taking shortcuts through tall farmer's fields, and onwards they walked as the birdsong began. The sky turned pink, and Lisabet was too focused on keeping up with Ruichanar to feel tired.

 

Morning came and went, and houses became sparser as they entered into the forest proper. The midday sun blazed, but Lisabet stubbornly kept her scarf on. Ruichanar finally let them rest-- he seemed unsettled by being still now that they had begun the journey. They scrounged for mushrooms and fruit in the clearing, finding an apple tree, and they feasted on their found food. As they sat, recovering from the walk so far, Robin piped up.

“In about a mile or two, I will've been further away from home than I've ever ventured.”

Lisabet looked around, and finally noticed that they were in a part of the forest that she'd never been to. She'd been in the Western-most part of the Shire plenty of time, but East? There was less Shire if you went East. It had felt like leaving, and she'd never gone further than the edge of the farmland. Not to mention she'd never been past the High Hay-- for good reason. She supposed that there would naturally be some forests inbetween the Shire and the closest Man town of Bree, but again, she'd never been there. There were many places she'd never been.

“You'll go much further yet, child.” Ruichanar shrugged, inspecting a long knife that he'd seemingly conjured from thin air. Robin spluttered.

“I'm not a child! What, just because I'm half your size? I'm thirty-four! Also, do you seriously not know my name?” Robin cried, and Marroc chuckled as Lisabet felt a smile twist her features. Ruichanar shrugged. And Robin muttered under her breath before raising her voice. “Robin Rowena Took! Remember my name!”

Lisabet sighed and rubbed her chin, that smile sticking like glue on her face despite her best efforts to wipe it away. She didn't know what to think or feel, so she instead focused on rubbing her feet and ankles in an effort to refresh them.  

 


End file.
